


Don't Mention It

by sportivetricks (tamlane)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Blink-and-You-Miss-It Anal Play, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Fantasy D/s, Fantasy Rough Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, POV Male Character, Partially Clothed Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Sex, but still no actual sex :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/sportivetricks
Summary: One hotel room, one small bed, and two sleep-deprived, sex-deprived Aurors.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just me getting in touch with my masculine side and having a little fun with the forced bed-sharing trope. I never write smut without dialogue. Like _never_. So this is new territory, and I can't vouch for the hotness (or lack thereof) herein. But I had a hell of a good time getting into Graves' head.

"Oh dear," Tina whispered.

Percival gently nudged her aside to get a closer look. He quickly realized he would have to settle for a look because there would be no confident striding into the motel room in front of them. There was barely room to walk.

Even in his state of exhaustion, Percival's mind raced, assessing every detail. No bathroom. Of course there wouldn't be at this price; it would be a shared one down the hall. Stain-dotted hardwood floor, dusty moldings, crooked lampshade. Bad, but he'd seen worse. He eased his way around the bed, which, despite its meager size, took up at least three-quarters of the room. He checked the window. It appeared to be bolted shut. Small consolation. There was a decent-sized drawer in the one bedside table. He checked it. Extra blanket. Bigger consolation.

Based on the details, he surmised they would be reasonably safe and comfortable for the night. Or what was left of it.

Tina had her strengths, but she was shit at details. Tina was a big-picture kind of girl, and Percival didn't have to look directly at her to know that she was taking in the big picture here and finding it less than ideal. The bed was, indeed, very small. So small that Percival thought it merited something more colorful than Tina's _oh dear_ , and the word was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

_"Fuck."_

But it was either this or blow their cover.

"Maybe we could just…" Tina glanced down the hall and, finding it empty, mimed waving a wand. "Just a little?"

"In a No-Maj establishment? Absolutely not. You know better."

"We've got to get some sleep," Tina said, her voice taking on a desperate edge. "It's going on twenty-two hours now, and if we don't hear from Renaldo soon—"

"Tina. Please." Percival didn't want to call her out for whining or overstating the obvious. She'd held up remarkably well so far. Better than he suspected some of his more highly trained and experienced Aurors would. Of course she had. She had more to prove to him than they did.

He grabbed the spare blanket and made his way back around the bed, swallowing a curse when he bumped his knee on the bedframe. "You take the bed. I'll—" He gestured towards the sliver of visible floor at the foot of the bed.

Tina stepped inside the room at last and gently closed the door behind her. She stood with her back to it, her hand still on the knob, as though hoping he might change his mind about the whole thing. "You really don't have to do that, sir."

Percival raked a hand through his hair, trying to ignore her pleading tone. Tina had to know he'd die before he'd let a woman sleep on the floor. And she had to know what might happen if they got in that bed together. What she was undoubtedly thinking about at that very moment, if the blush rising on her cheeks was any indication. 

She had _no idea_.

Images flashed through Percival's mind unbidden: Tina face down on that bed, her ass in the air, his face buried in it, licking her to climax after climax. Him behind her, his fingers digging bruises into her hip, his fist grasping her too-short hair while he rode her tight cunt like he was in a goddamn derby.

"Oh yes, I really do," he said with a huff.

He noted her fist clenching at her side. "Because I'm a woman? Really?"

God, he hoped she didn't go hysterical on him. He was halfway there himself. Clearly.

"Is that it?" Tina prodded. "If I was Renaldo or Ashe—"

"Then we'd probably both be sleeping on the floor," Percival snapped, more sternly than he'd meant to. "Out of sheer dumb pride."

Her chin shot up. "Fine." She started tearing the blanket off the bed. "Then that's what we'll do. Both of us."

"Tina." This time he fully intended to raise his voice, and he was pleased to see it startle her. "Get in the bed. That's an order."

Percival knew his wording had been ill-advised the moment it left his lips. Tina went from defiant to heavy-lidded in less than a second. She licked her lips. He'd seen her do this before when he took on _the tone_. He tried not imagine how eager he knew she would be to please him, how utterly malleable…

He had to get out of this room, he realized, tossing the spare blanket into a ball on the floor and shuffling towards the door.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going for a smoke."

"You can smoke in here. I don't mind."

"I do." Percival stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder at her. "I won't be gone long. Triple-ward this door behind me, you understand?"

"Sir, but what if—"

He let the door slam on the rest of her question, secure in the knowledge that any possible scenario Tina could dream up right now – and she'd proven to have quite an imagination when it came to catastrophic thinking – would be far less dangerous than him being in that room with her right then.

He was so fucked.

No, he was fine. He'd have a smoke, give it a little while, and she'd be dead to the world when he got back. And then he'd stealthily ease into the other side of the bed and probably be out cold himself in seconds.

Yeah right.

Percival hastened down the stairs, past the night clerk, and into a nearby alley, digging his pouch of tobacco out of his inside jacket pocket. God, she was gagging for it. He didn't know if Tina even knew it, but she absolutely oozed fuck-me vibes around him. She wasn’t even supposed to be on this stakeout. Fucking Ashe was getting his ass raked over the coals next time Percival saw him. Forget a Healer's excuse; the man had better have _scars_.

And yeah, Percival understood Tina's… thing. He was older, he was her boss, he was objectively good-looking, and he hadn't treated her unkindly during her training period. He hadn't really praised or encouraged her very much, either, but for some preposterous reason, people seemed to take general politeness from him as blatant approval.

Still, he knew what he saw when he looked in those wide, earnest eyes, and it wasn't hot, hard fucking followed by a few strategic cleaning spells and a mumbled oath to never talk about it again. No, it was undoubtedly rose-strewn lovemaking and cuddling and babies and… he was going vomit if he kept on that train of thought.

Having needs was really so _inconvenient_. Desires were pure luxury. One a man in his position couldn't well afford.

He rolled himself a cigarette with shaking fingers – he really had been awake a long time, he realized – and stuffed the pouch back in his jacket, fishing out his lighter. A few quick puffs, and he could feel the tobacco working its magic, settling him. A man had to have a few vices, or he'd go nuts, Percival reasoned, and if it took an occasional puff of smoke to help ease his mind, so be it.

Yeah, it would be fine. He'd have another one. Just hang out awhile. It wasn't too cold out, and the briskness of the night air was as calming as the smoke. He had figured Renaldo might be delayed. Waiting it out was just part of the gig sometimes. Morning would be there before they knew it, and if they had at least an hour and a half of rest, they'd be good. Maybe Tina would be able to get three or four hours.

She was learning quickly. Still way too emotional, but sometimes a dramatic personality lent itself well to law enforcement. Fuck's sake, half of his department were drama queens. He did worry sometimes about her candor, but she'd grow out of that soon enough.

Too soon probably.

Percival stubbed out his second cigarette with the toe of his boot and waited, hands in his pockets, back leant against the cool stone of the building. It had to be about three o'clock in the morning. It was blissfully dark and quiet for the city. He idly remembered sneaking out of his dorm at Ilvermorny sometimes in the wee hours, how he used to find a new alcove each time and just stand and smoke and think while the castle slept. He remembered getting caught at it a few times, too, and once not being entirely sorry about it.

He pushed those memories down deep, wiping his weary eyes. They weren't here and now. Here and now, he needed rest. Another inconvenience, especially considering their predicament, but an inevitable one.

Sure enough, by the time he slipped back into their closet of a room, Tina was buried in the covers, her eyes closed and her breathing heavy. Percival silently warded the door and took off his jacket, hanging it over hers on the hook on the back of the door. She was all the way over on the far side of the bed. She'd left room for him.

Percival glanced towards the hard floor and then back to the cramped but inviting mattress less than a foot away. He quietly took off his waistcoat and added it to the hook. Unlaced his spats and slipped out of his boots. Thumbed his suspenders off his shoulders and stripped off his tie. Stowed his collar pin and cufflinks in his waistcoat pocket, all as silently as he could manage. 

Tina didn't stir.

He unbuttoned his shirt, suppressing a sigh at the freedom. His eyes were heavy, so heavy. Did he dare risk it? Tina was fast asleep. And he was so tired. One had to pick their battles.

He took a deep breath and eased himself into the bed. The mattress was terrible. Lumpy. As he sank into it, Tina rolled slightly towards him. She sniffed loudly and mumbled but continued to sleep. It was fine… until he gave the covers a small tug, and Tina shifted slightly, exposing a flash of skin and silk.

Percival's breath caught. Why was he looking at her? He had to look at her, he reasoned. He had to make sure she didn't wake up. He disregarded the inner voice reminding him that this had been her idea, that she was bound to eventually discover he was next to her in bed.

He was next to her in bed. It didn't sound right in his head. He didn't _sleep_ with women. This was a bad idea.

As if to underscore the point, Tina shifted again, and the covers fell away from her torso entirely, revealing a pale silk-and-lace camisole. Lace. He never would have guessed she wore lace under her clothes. These _were_ her undergarments, right? Of course they were. It's not like they'd been expecting to be stuck in a motel room together. It's not like she'd expected him to actually slip into bed beside her. Of course she'd wanted to get comfortable. 

_What did she usually sleep in?_ Percival wondered. 

She suddenly tossed, turning her back to him. She had a quaint constellation of tiny moles near her left shoulder blade. Why was he still looking at her? If this had been any other circumstance, he would have been sorely tempted to slide that camisole strap aside, down her shoulder, to get a better look at that little cluster of marks. To touch them. To lick them. To watch the muscle underneath them flex as he slowly sheathed his full length inside her.

No. What the fuck? Had he gone mental?

He had to get out of the bed.

Tina tossed again, and – he bit into his fist – her breast was free of the camisole. One tiny, perfectly molded breast, tipped with a perfectly pink, perfectly erect nipple.

Percival ached to pinch it. He wanted to rub the pad of his fingers over it and take it between them and twist. He wanted to suckle, to squeeze, to torture that sensitive pebble of flesh until she screamed. He wanted to feel the sleight weight of that breast in his palm as he drove into her, his other palm muffling her cries. No, on second thought, he didn't want them muffled. He wanted this whole sleazy motel to hear her howl for him. In pain, in pleasure, he honestly didn't care which. He wanted that night clerk to sit downstairs smirking at the pounding his lady friend was so audibly getting upstairs.

Why was he still lying there beside her? Had sleep deprivation driven him insane? Why was he torturing himself like this? He was getting uncomfortably hard.

Tina suddenly shifted closer to him. He froze, breathless. He didn't even dare to swallow for fear of making a sound. She moved even closer. Was she still asleep? She looked asleep. Closer. She was pressed up to his side. That one bare breast, that hard nipple, was pressing into his bicep. He could feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

He was going to go mad like this.

She snuggled into him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was exactly what he didn't want. Percival Graves did not fucking cuddle, no matter how scantily clad the cuddler was, nor how turned on he was. Disgusted, but desperate not to wake her and cause a scene, he tried to move away, but he was already on the edge of the bed.

Tina threw her leg over him.

Fuck.

She… she trapped his thigh between her legs. And started to move. Tina was _humping his thigh_.

He was being attacked. There was no other word for it. What could he do? He knew what he wanted to do. What he would have done if she hadn't been asleep. _Was_ she asleep? If so, she must have been having a very vivid dream because her cunt was fucking soaked. He could actually feel the wet drag of her silk knickers against the leg of his trousers. Her heat was immense.

What could he do but lie there and let it happen? He gritted his teeth. It would be different if he was getting _something_ out of this, some kind of stimulation. His cock throbbed, straining his trousers, but he dared not touch it and risk waking her.

Sleeping Tina did, though. Sweet, innocent, supposedly sleeping Tina dragged her hand down his chest and found the outline of his cock and lazily stroked it. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it but bite into his lip and curse her warm little hand, the pressure not nearly enough to be more than a tease.

There was no way in hell she was still asleep.

But she wanted to pretend? Fine, they would pretend. After all, pretending meant it wasn't really happening. And if they were going to pretend… if this wasn't really happening… then Percival had no qualms at all about jerking open the buttons of his trousers and pushing down his boxers and wrapping her small hand around his bare shaft. He had no issue at all with clenching his hand over hers and showing her just how he wanted her to squeeze, showing her just what rhythm he wanted.

He let go, and she matched it perfectly. Perfectly. 

He was so on edge. Already. How already?

But he needed more. He pumped his hips into her fist, encouraging her to speed her strokes. She immediately complied. She was exquisitely attentive; she was ravenous to please him. The things he could teach her. The things he could do to her. She wouldn't have names for them. He didn't have words for them himself. He had nothing but need, all-consuming, and Tina was meeting it perfectly. He was going to come.

He had never come from a hand job in his life, but he was going to come. 

Since it was just pretend, he closed his eyes and let his mind go. They were in his office. She was bent over, she was bound, every limb to the legs of his desk. Her ass burned red with his hand prints, with his belt prints, and he fucked her. God, he fucked her so hard that the desk slid across the floor, so hard the instruments in his cases rattled. He fucked her until she was as pure and base as an animal beneath him, growling for him, rutting back against him, striving for it with him, milking it from him.

He fucked her until she drew it out of him like poison and left him spasming silently in its wake.

When he caught his breath, he realized that this Tina, real Tina, this sleeping animal, was still going. She rocked harder against him, panting against his shoulder, his trousers soaked with her slickness and sticking to his thigh. He was suddenly almost disbelieving of her near nakedness against him. Did he dare to touch her? 

He dared. He had to.

He let his hand roam down her back, down to her ass, nice and round and warm under the twisted silk of her knickers. He dared to slip his finger between her cheeks. Since this wasn't really happening, he figured he couldn't be blamed if he missed his target, so to speak. Working on that logic, he pressed her knickers into her crack, finding and lightly massaging that most forbidden hole beneath. 

The result was instantaneous. Tina moaned and ground harder against him, as though she had been waiting all night for this very thing. Interesting. Very interesting. He increased the pressure, wondering if she'd ever been touched there. Ever touched herself there. Ever been fucked there. He felt for the hollow of that opening and slipped the tip of his finger inside, pressing her wet knickers in along with it… stroking her ever so shallowly while she rode his thigh…

She came within seconds.

Percival was already drifting off. He was so very sleepy that should Tina pass out there, pressed against his side, and should their mess dry all over him, he wasn't going to argue. The room was dark, silent except for their breathing.

"Thank you, sir."

He barely heard it. They were asleep, after all.

He swallowed audibly, not entirely sure what she was thanking him for but fairly certain she shouldn't be thanking him at all. Hoping she'd still feel thankful in the morning. Or better yet… "Don't mention it."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love feedback. :) You can find me on tumblr at [sportivetricks](http://sportivetricks.tumblr.com/).


End file.
